Lucasta

Paying her Obsequies to the chaste memory of my dearest Cousin, Mrs. Bowes Barne

SEE what an undisturbed tear She weeps for her last sleep! But viewing her, straight waked, a star, She weeps that she did weep.

Grief ne’er before did tyrannize On the honour of that brow, And at the wheels of her brave eyes Was captive led, till now.

Thus for a saint’s apostasy, The unimagined woes And sorrows of the hierarchy None but an angel knows.

Thus for lost soul’s recovery, The clapping of the wings And triumph of this victory None but an angel sings.

So none but she knows to bemoan This equal virgin’s fate; None but Lucasta can her crown Of glory celebrate.

Then dart on me, Chaste Light, one ray, By which I may descry Thy joy clear through this cloudy day To dress my sorrow by.